Snippet #2431053

Leighton whirled around at the sound of a second voice in the yard, pale hair whipping with so sudden and sharp a movement; this was not a voice she knew. There, in her line of vison stood a pallid, thin man with deep-seemingly bottomless eyes, and a shy smile. In his hands, he clutched her pink tricycle.

"Is this what you're looking for, dear? Your chariot, I presume? I don't want to scare you, I was just passing through the woods and...thought I'd help you find your chariot. You could call me Mr. Pearce, if you'd like."

The little girl flashed him a grateful and affable smile, trudging through the snow to stand before him. "Mr. Pearce? Bleh. That's really formal. You don't have a first name? A nickname? Mine's Leighton, but you can call me Leigh...." She put a tiny finger to her cheek, as if pondering. "Or prefferably Princess Leigh of the winter lands." Her smile grew, cheeky and almost teasing. Warning bells sang their haulting tune in the back of her mind-years of STRANGER DANGER and Sebby's warnings about persons of unknown intent screaming their remonstrance, but she couldn't be made to care. No one had ever tried to harm her, which only produced a certain naitivity, and that, coupled with Sterlings meek and meager appearance and tone...and she never stood a chance.

Leighton gingerly reached up and took the trike from his cold grasp and set it on the ground before clammering atop the seat to stand eye to eye with him and extending her hand to shake. "What do you have there, books?" She asked, leaning forward ever so slightly on the seat to try to catch a glimpse of the thick texts tucked beneath his arm. Her curious doll-like features were reminescent of a Rembrandt painting, light-in-the-darkness, all-present glow juxtaposed against the washed out colors of winter. "Is that wher eyou learned such big words like Chariot?"

---

Derek climbed into his car and sat heavily in the driver’s seat as he sucked in a breath and wilted, resting his forehead against the steering wheel. He still wasn't one hundred percent sure where their relationship stood and what staying with her ment for his survival in Bellingstone, but regardless, he couldn't help being what ever she needed, molding himself to fit her desideratum. In fact, Sara had needed him in that very moment, called him to pick her up-[i]wanted[i/] him to pick her up he amended as she could have called anyone, and dammit if he wouldn't come running.

Derek Hale was a confined individual, locked up in a steel box. When he let a little vulnerability or emotion show, it was carefully measured and then delivered. He was self aware in a way that was both admirable but damaging to himself. It was also safe; and safe was what worked. Safe was what kept him functioning even when everything bottomed out and he had nothing left to lose.

And then Sara waltzed right into his life, housing Derek's soul like she had a right to, like she had no idea she'd instantly become home for this man.

Just over the course of the couple of days he had come to know her, when Derek wan't paying attention, Sara would brush her fingertips along top of his hand and take his tension away and Derek would just smile, none the wiser. Later he was always annoyed with himself because he was in such a damn good mood and he couldn't figure out how it had happened. He was being childish but he didn't care. He wanted to mope and he was good at brooding. He was always good at guilt and ugly things...

The drive to her work was a long and tedious one, the lone wolf not so much as touching the radio dial. They had been salting the roads in the town which put Derek directly behind a big, painfully slow salt-truck as it spilt its contents on the street and placed him a good ten minutes behind his designated time of pick up. It was all he could do to stiffle and anxious growl. He didn't like leaving her out there waitng and alone.

At last, as he whipped into the bar parkinglot-the place a flurry with activity as patrons staggered out into the streets to vehicles they were not really in a state to operate- Derek spotted Sara's car, hood propped up, smoke billowing out. Not a good sign. He quickly parked and lopped out, coming just a few feet away before it hit him. The scent. Like a wall of musk and ferality. Sara's own wolfy smell-warm and inviting-and a strangers; another wolf's, and not just any wolf-an alpha wolf. There was always a way to tell, if you were particularly versed in scenting, you'd notice all sorts of tiny details that added up to a sum of rank. And if you weren't then catching sight of the man was more than enough to glean that surmation. It was enough to have the hairs on the back of Derek's neck standing on end, bristling at the challenge.

"If you need a ride back home or something, I could always give you one. Not to sound creepy or anything, y'know, just being neighborly. I'd be willing to offer any other help you need, really."

Derek could feel his fangs grow in his mouth, involuntarily, threatened. He choked them back, running his tongue over the sharp edges until the returned to blunt and dull human teeth before he closed the final few feet of space. "She doesn't. Sara." He growled, alerting the pair to his presence. His voice was hard, guttural, matching the skyrocketing of his pulse. And though he had wrangled control over his fangs, he couldn't manage the eyes--so blown, there was only a rim of ice around pools of black.